The Writing Academy
by DeJean Smith
Summary: Bella Swan, Lit/Comp teacher to the not-always-receptive-minds of the students of Forks High and an aspiring novelist, earns a place at the coveted Writing Academy, a four-week experience where participants relinquish their senses one-by-one, one-at-a-time to become better writers. A FAGE 10:Reborn for Cecilia Melton/Ceceprincess1217
1. Chapter 1

FAGE 10: Reborn

Title: The Writing Academy

Written for: Cecilia Melton/Ceceprincess1217

Written by: DeJean Smith

Rating: M

Summary/Prompt used: Bella Swan, Lit/Comp teacher to the not-always-receptive-minds of the students of Forks High and an aspiring novelist, earns a place at the coveted Writing Academy, a four-week experience where participants relinquish their senses one-by-one, one-at-a-time to become better writers.

"The things that make you weird as a kid will make you great tomorrow"—James Victore, "How can I be in love with someone and yet I've never seen their face or heard their voice. But it is love, of this I am sure," and image of an English manor house.

In a second-floor classroom, on an unseasonably hot and sunny June day, Bella Swan blew her nose for the fourth time in an hour. She grumbled under her breath about budget cuts and custodial staff that deemed the upper floors less worthy to clean thoroughly as she boxed up another shelf of books. Of course, it could be worse. She could be forced into another dull post-planning session meeting rather than preparing her classroom for the summer break.

 _The floor cleaner can only be used on the ground floor, Miss Swan. There is no elevator to get it upstairs. You understand, of course._

She understood her sinuses were never going to be fully purged of a year's worth of detritus, pollen, and dust bunnies. Truth be told, she could sympathize with the janitorial crew. They were woefully understaffed, but with the latest and greatest time-saving equipment, i.e.., the Zamboni-like floor cleaner now in use instead of mops and buckets, the floor in her room had not been cleaned since two summers ago when the entire building received a strip and wax. It actually took two whole days before the wear and tear of teenage shoes, backpacks, and spilled coffee concoctions returned the thirty-year-old linoleum to its previous dull haze.

 _I really should bring a Swiffer in here more often._

Across the room, the aluminum blinds of one window rattled, reminding her that fresh air might be the solution.

"Thank you, Alice," Bella murmured as she stood, dusted off her hands on the back of her jeans, and moved to open the window.

Some classrooms had pets, a mouse or a hissing cockroach or some such beastie in a cage in a corner. Other teachers preferred posters of life affirming quotes, hints to make life easier, or even really bad puns. The anatomy classroom had a skeleton named, oddly appropriately enough, Tibia-deaux. But not Ms. Swan. Her little piece of Forks High housed a bone fide ghost. Or, at least she believed it was a ghost.

Some of the other teachers rationalized the happenings of room 1917, but Bella knew better. No amount of logic was going to prove to her that a box of tissues that was on one side of the room a few seconds ago and would appear right next to her at the appropriate time was not the work of her friendly spook.

No look down the nose, self-righteous maintenance person could prove to her the cold breezes in the room were due to faulty air handlers when the system was regularly maintained and worked properly in every other room in the building. Or that she felt them when the system was off.

And certainly, there wasn't a rational explanation to how sometimes, when she had a particularly bad day or a troublesome student or parent had just unleashed on her or when she pulled chaperone duty for a dance because she was one of the single teachers with _obviously_ nothing else to do on a Friday afternoon, Bella would feel someone give her a pat on the back and some little treat would appear whether it be her favorite chocolates or a small gift card to her favorite local shops.

To Bella, a ghost was the most reasonable actions for what happened in her classroom, and she drew a fair amount of comfort from the idea something outside the realm of normal understanding watched over her. At first, she had hoped it was a gentleman ghost along the lines of _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir_. She had always held a little torch for Rex Harrison, even if he had been a self-righteous ass. As time passed, Bella felt more and more certain that her visitor was female. The icing on the cake was after Curriculum Night, when almost everyone had left, Bella was certain she heard a whispered name.

 _Alice_.

And from that moment on, that was who Bella would refer to whenever strange and unique things happened in her classroom. A few of the teachers smiled indulgently whenever Alice was mentioned. Others pretty much ignored the entire issue, too wrapped up in their own little worlds to pay it any mind. And then there were the precious handful that steadfastly believed Bella was in touch with the other world and were in awe. Fortunately, no one balked at the notion and nominated her for the next bus to institutionalized care.

After raising the blinds, she tugged open the tiny window. Moments later, a gentle, cleansing breeze wafted through the room, and Bella stood, eyes closed, reveling in the sense of peace clear nostrils gave her.

"Knock, knock!"

Bella opened her eyes to see her hallmate, Jessica, standing in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back in a frizzy ponytail, and bits of paper and glitter stuck to her jeans and tee shirt. Bella motioned for the art teacher to enter.

"So, County has finally approved my murals, and I wanted to show you the plan. Each classroom entry will be tailored to the course taught in it." Jessica opened her sketchbook and turned a few pages. "Mr. Molina requested a microscope, cells, a DNA strand, and an onion."

"Anaphase, metaphase …" Bella murmured, remembering her own days in the Biology teacher's classroom and the onion cell lab.

Jessica grinned, pointing to a tiny, gold onion trophy she had incorporated into the design. The prize for finishing the lab first was well-known and unfortunately discontinued after several of the spray-painted onions had been left in students' lockers over the summer.

"Now, for you," she flipped a few pages and gestured toward the pale purple archway that would soon surround her classroom doorway. "I got the quotes you sent me, and I love them, but I need your input on the font we use. And how you want them arranged. Or if you still want both. I've sketched a few ideas."

Bella looked down at the elaborate drawing with its stacks of books, smiling as she recognized the titles were some of her favorites as well as part of the curriculum, a laptop computer alongside paper and pens. Jessica even included a comic strip that Bella often used to appeal to the more graphically-minded students.

Jessica flipped the page to show the first option. Shel Silverstein's _Invitation_ filled the wall on the left side of her doorway while the artwork balanced the image on the right.

"I can flip them if you'd prefer. Text over here, pictures over here."

Bella nodded as she turned the page and her breath caught. Jessica had taken the words and made a panoramic arch over the doorway. This time, the books, laptop, pens, papers, et cetera intertwined around a quote.

 _The things that make you weird as a kid will make you great tomorrow—James Victore._

Bella giggled as she realized _weird_ was emphasized and would fall right above her nameplate on the door. So, so fitting, she thought. The little girl of divorced parents who spent her formative years shuffling from place to place thanks to a nomadic mother before settling with her father in Forks, Washington, the rainiest place in the continental United States. The child who preferred reading classic literature to watching television or YouTube videos who grew into the young woman who steadfastly believed a ghost inhabited her classroom and spoke to said specter as if it were her best friend in the entire world.

Yes, Bella Swan was weird. And rather proud of that title. She was working on the becoming great, whether it be as the next famous American novelist or encouraging a new generation down that path.

"That one was my favorite," Jessica murmured, motioning toward the image. "It just seemed so apropos for high school."

"I agree." Bella reverently fingered the illustration, falling more and more in love with it.

"Any suggestions? Modifications?"

"None that I can think of. It's really perfect, Jess."

"Well, do you want the text to be print or script?"

"Can any of the kids read script?"

The need to consider this was sad, but true. With the discontinuing of teaching students to write in cursive, many of them lacked the ability to read several of the primary sources Bella used in her class.

"Lauren said the third-grade teachers at her school were lobbying to bring it back. Something about handwriting and memory retention."

Bella nodded. Their mutual friend and former classmate was the AP at Forks Elementary, and as a third-generation educator, she liked to blend old lessons with new techniques.

"Then let's go with script."

Jessica nodded. "Got a font pref?"

Bella thought about the styles of handwriting scripts available. Jessica was extremely talented and could mimic any font thrown at her, but the students that would be filling in her outlines might not be up to the challenge and she voiced her concern.

"I've got a few kids from the res that are coming over to assist with the bigger sections. Seems Jacob has been handing out community service hours to those who aren't exactly walking the straight and narrow. Better than sending them to PA for juvie."

While it was true most of the young men on the nearby reservation wished for a brighter life and to get out of the area, a few lost their way now and again. The new police task force Jacob headed looked for more appropriate ways of avoiding shipping the malcontents off to the detention facility in Port Angeles.

Jacob Black, son of her father's good friend, Billy, was on the elder council for the local Quileute nation and worked diligently toward ending the cycle of poverty and crime. He had pushed his way through high school, community college, and then the police academy, earning a place on her father's team. After presenting a well-designed plan of action, he was assigned to cover the reservation in the hopes having one of their own policing the area would create a more harmonious atmosphere and encourage the younger generation to set their sights higher than dropout status and a welfare state.

"Seth is one of them," Jessica continued.

Bella shook her head. Seth was a talented kid, often placing in the top two in county art competitions, but the lack of a father-figure in his life meant he searched for it in some pretty harsh places. She seemed to remember her father saying Quil and Embry had been arrested again, so it stood to reason the young man would have been with them.

She had a brainstorm and made her way through the piles of boxes to her desk.

"Where did it go?" Bella muttered to herself, flipping through her file folders. "Ah, here it is."

She plucked out her acceptance letter to The Writing Academy and brought it over to Jessica. Bella hesitated for a moment. This letter was personal. She had created a plan of study for the summer and the representative from The Writing Academy had praised her creativity and claimed the idea to be one of the best submitted. Bella had blushed at the approval.

"Think you can do this one?"

Jessica took the paper and glanced over it, whistling under her breath to herself.

"What?"

"This is old school." She held the paper up to the light. "Perfectly straight without guidelines, each letter exactly the same. Every 'a' is the same, every … Wow."

Jessica was having a moment. Whoever wrote this letter was a person after her own heart. Such care and craftsmanship in the lettering, in the placement of the lines, everything from the paper type to the selection of the pen used to write and even the color of ink to create the ideal contrast. The author had a true artist's heart.

"Maybe you can find the font online and—"

Jessica shook her head. "This isn't printed, Bells. Someone wrote this. By hand." She pointed to a period at the end of one of the sentences. "See how the ink blurred just a little?"

Bella gave her friend a look of disbelief. Her own chicken scratch handwriting was legible but until she had taken a few calligraphy classes to improve it, that had not always been the case. She had assumed the author just typed it up and printed it out.

"I know you probably don't understand, but while you love the written word, I have a thing for the _how_ it is written. _How_ something is composed. The attention the creator put into drawing the pieces together." She sighed wistfully as she handed the letter back. "It's probably some hundred and seventeen-year-old gentleman The Writing Academy has on retainer to impress the participants."

Bella nodded. She did understand what Jessica meant. She had countless book boyfriends, creations of an author's mind that she would never meet in real life, but when she read their stories, she fell in love over and over again. It was a true, all-encompassing love, of that she was certain.

 _That_ was her primary goal for her time at The Writing Academy—to learn how to create characters that a reader could fall in love with or despise or just create some sort of emotional attachment between reader and character. Once she achieved that, she could learn how to convey those lessons to her students and improve their personal writings and comprehension of what they read. And maybe, just maybe, she could get a three-page paper out of them without the use of the word _like_. Miracles were known to happen.

"You still excited?"

Jessica's question interrupted Bella's train of thought, and she looked at her friend with confusion.

"The Writing Academy. You still excited or nervous?"

A beaming smile graced Bella's face. "A month to learn how to create better characters through learning how to capture their traits through sensory description and deprivation. What's not to love about that?"

Jessica blinked owlishly. Language Arts had never been her strong suit and the words from her friend's mouth washed over her. She was not uneducated by any stretch of the imagination, she just spoke a completely different language than her friend.

"I have no idea what you just said, but based off of your smile, I'll go with 'yes.'"

"Yes, Jess. I'm excited."

"I want to hear all about it when you get back."

"It's a date."


	2. Chapter 2

"And that is how I got that scar and a fabulous bear skin rug," the burly bus driver announced into the microphone, pointing to a jagged wound that trailed up one bicep and under his dark blue short sleeve shirt.

"Hands on the wheel, Emmett," a woman in a matching blue dress from the front seat of the bus murmured, straightening her notes.

Bella was certain the woman in question was not even looking in the driver's direction, but the small smile that graced her ruby-lacquered lips told her it wasn't the first time she had reminded the gentleman to pay attention.

"Just tellin' a story, Rosie."

"I'm sure they would prefer a little less animation and a bit more certainty they will arrive in one piece."

The driver looked up into the mirror, grinning when he realized several passengers were gripping their armrests a little more tightly than necessary. He saw Bella watching him and winked before returning his attention to the road.

The woman stood and took the microphone before turning toward the other nineteen passengers.

"We will soon be arriving at The Writing Academy where you will receive your information packets. Everyone has been assigned individual accommodations based upon the goals and preferences you requested earlier."

Bella thought back to her own application. She wanted solitude without isolation. A peaceful locale without the hustle and bustle of people coming and going but with the opportunity to bounce ideas off one another.

"Lectures and discussion groups will be in the morning and repeated in the afternoon. While we would prefer you stick to one session, we understand sometimes the writing muses keep you up late and sleeping in happens. Or, vice versa. Sometimes you wake up early, filled with ideas that just must be scribbled down."

"Who writes by hand anymore?" the woman next to Bella whispered conspiratorially.

She shrugged a response, not wanting to get into a debate. Personally, Bella saw the benefits to longhand as well as electronic word processing. Both provided an outlet, and she found it therapeutic to jot down ideas with a newly sharpened pencil on fresh white paper just as much as looking at a blank Word document. On the flip side, she knew the frustration both drew out of her. Hopefully, this experience at The Writing Academy would provide her a tool bag of ideas to use with her students on how to approach and create a better composition.

"Eh, it doesn't matter. I'm just here to finish my trilogy and get it to my publisher."

Bella studied her seatmate, an attractive redhead with porcelain skin and a few freckles peeking through thick foundation. Her clothing style could only be described as Goodwill eclectic with nothing matching but somehow working for her.

"Victoria Chamberspot." The woman held out her hand. "Though I write under the name Victoria Nomad. It seems having a last name 'Chamberspot' isn't a good thing when writing Regency Era novels. My publisher thought it sounded too much like chamber pot and changed it in order to give it 'more flare'." She made air quotes as she spoke, shaking her head in dismay at the notion. "Whatever. You?"

"Bella Swan. I teach at…"

"Do you think they will turn up the air some? It's getting stuffy back here." Victoria reached for the air vent above them and fiddled with it for a moment. By the time she was satisfied with the results, the bus turned down a long, gravel driveway. "Oh. My. God."

Bella peeked between the seats in front of her and caught a glimpse of the manor house. It was even more impressive in real life than in the pictures. Two towers, three stories each, flanked the front corners, each built out of countless blocks of tan stones. A merrily bubbling fountain surrounded by low rose bushes created a circular drive with acres of manicured lawn stretching out before them. She felt the sudden urge to kick off her shoes and run through the grass just to see if it was as soft as it appeared.

"Welcome to The Writing Academy!" the woman at the front of the bus announced, motioning grandly out the window.

Bella could understand why the information online had proclaimed this to be the Biltmore of Illinois. She had never imagined such grandeur would be just a few hours drive away from O'Hare International. The info had stated it was built by a wealthy lawyer at the turn of the 19th century as a summer home for he and his family. She sighed wistfully at the reminder of a long-gone era.

As the bus pulled to a halt, she saw a small group awaiting their arrival. A petite woman, stylishly clad in what looked to be vintage Chanel with a broad brimmed hat and white gloves bounced on the balls of her feet, vibrating with excitement. Beside her, a tall, blonde man stooped down and whispered something in her ear. She nodded fervently and appeared to murmur something back.

The woman's eyes flitted from window to window on the bus. She gripped her companion's arm when her eyes met with Bella's, a beaming smile lighting up her face. Bella was certain she could read the woman's lips as she proclaimed, _she's here!_

The others began to gather their things and exit the bus and Bella turned her attention away from the woman outside for the briefest of moments. When she looked up, the couple was gone.

"Curious," Bella murmured to herself, earning a querulous look from Victoria which she shrugged off, eager to stretch her legs after a long day of travel.

Twenty men and women gathered in the driveway, waiting for their luggage to be unloaded, when a gentleman in a finely tailored navy suit approached.

"Welcome to The Writing Academy! My name is Carlisle Cullen, and I have spoken to many of you either via phone or e-mail. Some of you, several times."

The wry smile caused a titter to erupt from a few guilty parties.

"My lovely assistant, who happens to be my bride, Esme Platt-Cullen, has your room assignments as well as schedules." He motioned to an equally well-dressed woman standing next to him.

"Once you receive your packet, feel free to leave your things here and join us for a welcome reception in the white tent you see to your left. Nametags are attached so you can become familiar with each other. Our staff will take your luggage to your room while you can meet with a few of our mentors as well as fellow participants."

As the names were called in alphabetical order, Bella looked around at her surroundings. She could already feel the calm energy waking up her slumbering creative side. While she loved nothing more than exploring the written word with her students, and she did have several that shared her passion, the ones that did not, compounded with the ever-increasing paperwork the administration lumped on her, weakened that drive. With a deep, cleansing breath and a smile, she approached Mrs. Cullen when her name was announced, ready to face the next challenge.

"You will be in the gardener's hut," Esme explained, handing over a manila envelope. "It really is a lovely place. Quite serene. It overlooks part of the gardens and a pond that the original owner of the house kept stocked with a variety of fish."

Bella smiled. Her father would love to hear she had her own private pond and probably would chastise her for not bringing her tackle box and rod and reel.

"And your first assignment is to write tonight a full character description of one of your fellow participants. Without revealing their name. There's a form and example to get you started."

Bella looked around at those milling about, trying to pick one that captured her fancy. Of course, there was Victoria whom she had met on the bus. And then there was an interesting older man with long, scraggly white hair reminiscent of Riff Raff in _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_. Or the metrosexual with his finely manicured beard and artfully torn jeans. Was that a Starbucks logo tattoo on his wrist? She rolled her eyes. Or the woman sporting the "Honey, I don't even walk straight" tee shirt. Inspiration abounded, giving her a reason to smile broadly as she followed the others towards the tent.

Throughout the reception, Bella had the distinct feeling she was being watched. Not a surprise since everyone had been given the assignment to create a character description, but this felt different. She sensed her observer was outside the confines of the tent, milling about in a clump of bushes a few yards away rather than within the twenty participants. There was something comfortingly familiar about the presence.

 _Alice?_

She stepped toward the edge of the tent and felt the energy pull back as if to avoid her discovering it. The feeling grew stronger when she refilled her drink.

Was it her favorite ghost? she pondered.

No. The sensations were not the same as when she was visited by her favorite specter. It was along the same lines but not exactly identical. Perhaps The Writing Academy had its own gaggle of ghosts and they realized she was a receptive spirit herself.

How thrilling! She grinned and waved towards where she felt the presence and turned her energy back toward the other participants, learning bits and pieces about their home lives that she hoped to include in the mini-bio assignment.

Soon, Bella found her way to the gardener's hut, gasping as it came into view. A tiny, single room house tucked back in a wooded glade with a trellis of roses surrounding the front door greeted her.

"I may never leave," she murmured to herself.

As if welcoming her to her accommodations, the front door swung open.

"Thank you."

Bella entered the room, finding it cozy and neat. A bed in one corner with a writing table and chair nearby called to her, and she found a familiar chocolate sitting atop a blank journal.

"Alice, did you follow me?" she asked, for it was the same type she often found in her classroom back in Forks.

The door to the hut closed behind her without her feeling a draft or her assistance.

"I'm glad you did."

Bella smiled to herself before picking up her suitcase and popping the latches. This was going to be a most memorable four weeks, she was certain.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten days into The Writing Academy, Bella had filled a journal with her experiences with the sense of taste.

One day, she sampled a variety of hot and iced teas. Gunpowder, Assam, and Black. Sweetened with sugar, agave, honey, and unsweetened. Drunk from ceramic mugs, fine porcelain china, and even hand-carved wooden cups. Sometimes, she wore a mask to block her sense of sight so she could focus on how the cup fit her hand, how the steam wafted up into her sinuses, and to intensify just how the first sip tasted as it crashed into her taste buds.

That evening, a small package of each of the teas she had enjoyed found its way to her living quarters. At first, Bella assumed it was from Benjamin, the tea sommelier who had guided her through the experience. But, no. The enclosed note, written in a vaguely familiar handwriting, befuddled and intrigued her.

 _My dear, if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs. – Charles Dickens._

It could not have been from Alice, she rationalized, for the spirit never left her notes. Benjamin had off-handedly commented that he never learned to write English neatly when they were discussing where he was from. His school back in Egypt taught him many things, but penmanship was not one of them. Often his letters were squished or connected following the norm in Arabic, so he typed more than he handwrote. This notecard was most definitely handwritten.

Unable to solve the mystery, Bella merely murmured a thank you should anyone be listening and set the card with her delightfully packaged teas on her writing desk and began to scribble happily in a new journal, excited for the next experience.

Another day, she was taken to a small parlor in the main house and the woman she knew as Emmett's Rosie wheeled in a large cart with several different kinds of cheese. A few had to be accompanied by a nose clip to block out their pungent odor for the first taste and once copious notes were written about a particular sample, a second bite without the clip followed. She was amazed at the difference and noted her emotions and sensations.

Bella had never been so happy not to be lactose intolerant. She had never heard of half of the offerings and scrawled each down, including name, location, dairy, milk type, and any other tidbits of information Rosalie, as she preferred to be called, offered. The gorgeous blonde knew her subject and patiently answered Bella's questions without so much as a blink of the eye.

As Rosalie gathered up the plates and utensils, Bella realized she had a question.

"Will I work with everyone on The Writing Academy's staff while I am here?"

Rosalie thought for a moment before replying.

"I believe so. Why?"

"There was a couple when we arrived that I haven't seen since."

"A couple?"

Rosalie's response was just a little too measured, as if she knew where Bella was going with her questioning but wanted to see if she would ask the right questions before giving anything away.

"A pretty brunette in a Chanel dress with…"

"Oh. Mrs. Whitlock. She's around most of the time. Her specialty is fabrics." Rosalie continued to put her things away with brisk efficiency. "You will most likely meet her when you do touch."

Bella searched her memory to recall the order of senses she had been assigned. Just as the door closed behind Rosalie, Bella remembered the rest of the staff preferred to be called by their first names and Rosalie had intentionally refrained from revealing Mrs. Whitlock's. She dashed to the door to find the hallway completely empty.

"Well, darn."

She returned to her table to retrieve her journal and pen. An idea struck, and Bella sat to quickly write it down before she forgot.

That evening, Bella returned to her room to find a neatly hand-written listing of the dairies in the Pacific North-West that made their own cheeses similar to the ones that were part of her tasting that afternoon. She was touched by the consideration someone had and the time and effort involved.

Next to the listing was a notecard. Bella opened it to find a poem.

 _How sweet, I imagine_

 _The taste of your lips._

 _To receive their favor,_

 _The greatest gift._

 _And if, some day_

 _The gods grant favor,_

 _I would_

 _Your truer secrets_

 _Savor._

Her eyes widened at the words, unsure if she should be flattered or creeped out. Growing up, teenage boys did not write poetry unless absolutely forced to and now she had received two notes, one with a poem, one with a quote, that indicated someone was interested in her.

Her.

Bella Swan.

Mousy, mousy Bella Swan.

She found herself more flattered than frightened as she reread the notes, trying to remember if she had seen that handwriting before.


	4. Chapter 4

The sounds of DeBussy's _Clare de Lune_ wafted through the wall of the sunroom where she curled up in a chair with a nice cup of hot tea and perused her notes from that morning's lecture on sound. Bella closed her eyes, reveling in the notes of one of her favorite classical pieces. Whoever was playing was quite good. The emotion of each and every phrase as perfect as any recording she had ever listened. She wondered if it were a participant in the academy or one of the mentors.

Journal under one arm and pen stuck behind her ear, Bella left the sunroom, following the music. Unfortunately, they originated from a room with a closed door, so she stood outside, waiting for whomever was inside to come out.

Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ began, and Bella leaned against the wall, closing her eyes to listen. Again, the performance was technically perfect, and she felt tears well up in her eyes, she was so moved.

A few moments after the last notes faded, the door open and a woman emerged.

"Were you playing?" Bella inquired. "Because, that was wonderful."

The snort said it all.

"I never got past Chopsticks. That was Edward. He was showing me how the right song changes the feel for a scene. Man has talent, I'll give him that. Not too hard on the eyes, either. I'd think about going straight for a moment if he showed any interest."

Bella remembered the woman had spoken of writing screenplays during one of the social hours. Irena. Her name was Irena. The woman of the 'walk straight' tee shirt.

"Thank you, Irena."

With a brisk nod, the woman headed down the hall while Bella entered the room. It was a small space with a grand piano in one corner and a few chairs gathered together, but other than that, it was completely empty.

Had Edward slipped out while she had been talking with Irena? The hallways were not that wide and with hardwood floors, very difficult to traverse without someone hearing you. Bella was befuddled at the development.

"Curiouser and curiouser."

That night, a CD appeared in Bella's little piece of paradise. Written on the label were the words, "Bella's Lullaby," in the same script her acceptance letter and the note that came with her packages of tea.

She searched for a note or any other explanation before finding a little scrap under her desk.

 _The sound of your voice calls._

 _The sound of your heart maddens._

 _The sound of your pleasure becomes_

 _My deepest desire._

 _A symphony I hope and pray to hear._

"Oh!" Bella whispered, overcome by the passion in the short poem. She fanned herself with the paper, trying to figure out which of the participants sent her such words and if they were true or just a ruse.

Bella pulled out her laptop and slid in the CD. A few moments later, the most hauntingly beautiful music played, filling the room with glorious sounds and further placing her under the spell of whoever was leaving her notes.She fell asleep listening to the recording on repeat, completely unaware of a shadowy observer that hovered in one corner of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

"The honeymoon house. Really?"

"Now, Edward, you read her application. The cottage is perfect for Ms. Swan. She doesn't know its history. She just thinks it is a gardener's hut."

He glared at his adopted sister whose ethereally calm face gazed through the small wooded patch beside said accommodations. Inside, Bella happily mumbled to herself as she created brilliant lesson plans to bring back to Forks and even toyed with an idea of publishing her ideas.

"She's happy here."

"She'd be happy in the basement."

Alice gasped in horror at the idea.

"She deserves to be here. Your mother would be ecstatic you finally found someone."

Edward rolled his eyes. Alice's demeanor softened as she recollected a small high school in a rainy part of northwest Washington state. They both knew damn well it wasn't Ms. Swan's qualifications that got her placed in this particular housing situation. It was a chance encounter almost a decade ago.

"Well, you had to go to Biology that day. I warned you it wasn't the best choice." Alice nodded in self-righteous satisfaction.

"You could have warned me I was going to want to kill the girl. That kind of falls under the need-to-know category."

Edward grumbled under his breath, tugging at his hair, remembering how delectable Bella smelled. How he had nearly drained her right then and there in Mr. Molina's fifth period Biology class.

"Would you have listened?"

His silence gave her the answer she needed.

"Ten years has given you a little more control. Bella deserves that. She will understand."

"Yes, yes." He waved her off. "Can't have anything less than perfect for your best friend."

"To be best friend," she corrected, picking imaginary fuzz off her sleeve. "We haven't been officially introduced yet."

"And whose fault is that? You've only been haunting her classroom for five years. Good God, Alice. She is going to be furious when she finds out."

Alice thought for a moment, carefully making decisions of how to introduce herself and when the time came, to reveal herself as Bella's classroom ghost. The closer it drew to the time of her grand announcement, the happier the outcome.

"I don't think she will have an issue with me not being a ghost."

"She might about you being a vampire," he snapped, whirling around.

"Aren't you in a pissy mood this evening."

"Bah." Edward began to stomp away before pausing when Alice gently called his name.

"Edward, you're going to meet her again. A real introduction."

"When?"

Alice stared at him for a few moments, mentally singing a few K-Pop tunes as she searched for his near future. Satisfied with what she saw and the obvious cringing her brother had as she hit some particularly high notes, she looked him directly in the eye.

"Soon."

"You've been saying that for five fucking years."

Alice straightened to her full almost-five-feet tall height.

"When it's right, it will be right, Edward. I didn't set all this in motion. You're the one that bonded with her. She was a teenager and not comfortable in her own skin, yet. She is now. With that maturity comes your happily ever after. She won't run, and you won't kill her. Just keep up with what you're doing."

He gazed back at the house, toward the one person whose thoughts he could not hear, and hoped to God Alice was right.


	6. Chapter 6

Describing the senses of touch and sight intrigued and befuddled Bella. She was not sure how to coax imageries of it out of others. So often, her students' words simply just fell flat. Satin was smooth. Cotton was rough. Hair was dark or light. Not exactly scintillating descriptions. But, the pitfall of the flip side was flowery, fake descriptions that overextended the realms of believability. Bella needed to discover ways to draw out more colorful, appealing, complex imagery from her students without making the reader want to throw up. One could only take so many descriptions of brown as always chocolate, after all.

 _Would that be milk or dark?_ She groused to herself as she gathered her notebook and pens and headed toward the main house.

Maybe that was the way to approach it. Break the senses down into smaller pieces. Bella flipped open her journal and wrote a few ideas of ways to do just that. She had briefly pondered an activity straight out of _Dead Poet's Society_ where Robin Williams' character covers the eyes of a young man and makes him describe what he sees in his mind, but with today's concerns over 'triggering' students, she was afraid of the consequences should something go wrong. Perhaps showing the scene on the Promethian board would be better.

Then there was the question of would the mentor focus on Bella giving or receiving the sensory input for touch? It was the only sense one could experience as a two-way street. Her doing the deed was acceptable. Her receiving could be grounds for a lawsuit. Fortunately, a good part of The Writing Academy was participant driven so it really was up to her and what she was comfortable with.

When a notecard inviting her to the upper floor of the west tower arrived, signaling her moving to the next sensory experience, Bella knew she would soon meet the elusive Mrs. Whitlock and answer some of her questions.

Bella huffed and puffed as she climbed the last flight of stairs leading to what turned out to be the storage closets for the theatrical productions held on the property during the fall and spring months. Rack upon rack of satins and silks and brocades in every hue imaginable crowded the room, leaving barely enough room to slide between the rows.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Mrs. Whitlock?"

Bella entered further into the room, looking down one aisle and then the other, but she was alone.

Taking a quick look at her watch to verify the time, Bella wondered where Mrs. Whitlock could be. None of the other mentors had been tardy to either the lectures or the demonstrations. It was almost a sense of pride, Bella had gathered.

A soft rustling down the way caught her attention, and she followed the sound. In a small, open space, Bella found a black dress with a sapphire overcoat hanging on the side of a privacy screen. A broad brimmed hat with matching ostrich feathers lay on a nearby chair. Propped nearby were black, crocheted gloves and a small parrot-handled parasol.

She was in love. It was so gorgeous. Bella carefully approached, gently touching the fabric.

 _Try me on._

A small note scrawled in tiny, tight handwriting, pinned to the bodice of the tempted her. Perhaps, Mrs. Whitlock knew she would be running late and therefore had left her a costume to wear.

Bella looked around. The only entrance to the storage room was the one she had entered, so she would know if anyone disturbed her while in a state of undress. It took less than two seconds for her to decide and whip her tee shirt off.

A quick whirl over the head and the dress floated down over her body. The stiff, starched material scratched her skin ever so slightly before settling into place. Bella buttoned up the front and slid on the sapphire colored overcoat. The ebony button at her waist cinched in the material, giving her a waspish figure.

"Oh, this is heavier than it looks," she muttered to herself as she picked up the hat and placed it on her head.

"Edwardian era, circa 1918. No proper lady of means would be seen outside of the home in anything less," a bright, chipper voice piped beside her.

Bella jumped, having not heard anyone approach. She spun around to find the woman she had seen upon her arrival grinning up at her.

"A. Whitlock, your mentor for the day."

Bella was too caught up in willing her heart to return to its natural rhythm to realize Alice had not revealed her first name. Just as she was about to ask, Alice began to display the finer qualities of the black dress, completely ignoring her distress.

"Three flounces gracefully fall to the floor from a gathered waistline in a successful effort to create a narrow waist as well as portray movement even when the wearer is standing still."

The woman continued to point out qualities of the clothing, and Bella finally shook off her shock.

"So, how do you feel?" Alice continued.

"Now that my heart has returned to normal beating, it's quite a comfortable frock."

"Did it look like it would be?"

Bella thought for a moment before shaking her head. In all honesty, the dress looked tight and constricting on the hanger. Now that she had it on, it was as if the outfit had been tailored to her body.

"Not something I would wear every day, but surprisingly, I don't hate how it feels."

Alice grinned broadly before gently guiding Bella to a mirror. She reached up and took off the hat and in a matter of seconds, had Bella's hair wrestled into a fashionable chignon.

"How—"

"Years of practice."

Bella had a strong feeling this was more than practice coming into play.

"Now, then." Alice repositioned the hat, securing it with two long pins. "You are ready for a promenade with your beau down the avenue to see and be seen."

Bella snorted a laugh.

"What?"

"That would require a beau, much less one that liked to promenade."

Bella was not a hermit by any means. She had her close circle of friends, male and female, and they did enjoy going out to movies or shows and even the occasional overnight trip to Seattle, but there was no one who could remotely come close to being classified as a beau.

"Perhaps you are just waiting for the right person."

Bella's mind instantly went to a brief encounter, many years ago, where a young man caught her fancy, but before the two had time to speak to each other, he disappeared. Every other gentleman caller fell short of the glory of that one and as a result, no one ever captured her interest for more than two dates.

 _Look at you! Gentleman caller. Must be the clothes._

"Thinking of a special someone?"

Bella shook her head. "No. Just remembering someone I briefly met a long time ago."

"He must have been something to get that look."

She panicked, wondering what face she had made and if it resembled the lovestruck teenager she had once been. She put her palms to her face in an effort to cool her cheeks.

"No. I really didn't even know him that…"

"Sometimes people just click."

"I was seventeen. Don't you think that is just a little weird to fall for someone you just met?"

"As one of my favorite quotes by James Victore says, 'The things that make you weird as a kid will make you great tomorrow.' We can all use a little weird in our lives. It makes things interesting."

"I love that quote! I'm having it painted outside my classroom as we speak."

Alice smiled before launching into a lecture how wool was actually very cooling to wear which somehow Bella was completely alright with the distraction from memories of a long ago crush.

Once the talk was completed, Bella began to brainstorm ideas of how to get her students to make the connections between setting and scene when it came to costuming. Why set the story in this era, assuming it was not set in the author's current time. Why…

"Ready?" Alice asked, interrupting Bella's train of thought.

"Hmmm?"

"For your next outfit." She motioned toward a smaller rack of clothes with a half-dozen pieces.

Bella nodded and accepted the next hanger which held a gray 1940s woolen dress.

"You can just toss that over to me, and I'll hang it up while you change." Alice shooed her toward the privacy screen. "As you take off the Edwardian dress, think about how difficult or simple it might have been for the average woman to do the same. What fabrics might have substituted for the silk. You can use sample sizes of the fabrics with your class to let them feel and experience each type. In a day and age with so much taffeta and acetate and, shudder, Rayon, touching silk and linen and pure cotton just doesn't happen."

Bella grinned at the inclusion of the word 'shudder.' She had a friend who absolutely despised Rayon in all of its forms and preached long and loud against it. Suddenly, she wished her journal was a little closer so she could jot down her ideas. The thought no more than crossed her mind when it appeared over the top of the screen. Clutching the second outfit to her chest, she murmured a thank you and scribbled down her ideas.

And so the next two hours passed. Bella would try on a costume from some time period, and Alice would educate her on the type of fabric involved in making it true to the era. Bella found the woman fascinating and marveled at how Alice seemed to anticipate her questions, often answering them before they were verbalized.

After the last costume returned to its place on the rack, Bella emerged from behind the screen. Her denim jeans and cotton tee seemed almost unnatural against her skin after her experiences with the other fabrics.

"Thank you for such a wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Whitlock," Bella said with heartfelt gratitude. "I have never been one to appreciate finer clothing, but now I understand its appeal."

"Oh, now there. Glad to be of assistance on your journey through the world of fashion and touch." Alice pulled Bella into a tight hug. Just before releasing her, she murmured close to Bella's ear, "And call me Alice."

Bella blinked for a moment, letting the words sink in. When it finally hit her what had been said, Alice grinned broadly, nodded, and vanished.

"What. The. Hell," Bella muttered, searching for a trap door or hidden mirrors or some such explanation, but found none.

"Alice?" she called, repeating over and over the name as she tried to discover where the woman had gone, her voice growing louder and louder in agitation.

But the woman had disappeared. Just like a ghost.

"What. The. Fuck."

Bella plopped down in a chair, trying to comprehend what had just occurred. There was no logical explanation, no rational platitude that could explain away Alice's disappearance.

 _Her_ Alice.

The one from her classroom back home in Forks.

"I need…"

Bella was about to say she needed a chocolate but a cool whoosh of air blew by her and a ballotin appeared next to her.

She huffed a laugh before taking the box and opening it. Inside were two of her favorite candies, just like the ones she received back in her classroom.

"You better come back and visit me," Bella grumbled as she shoved one into her mouth. "I'll be pissed if you don't." Although she did not hear a response, something inside her believed that Alice would return.

That night, an order form with strategically blacked out information lay on Bella's desk. She picked it up and discovered it was for a collection of fabric samples to be shipped to her school for her to use in the classroom.

Bella held the paper up to the light to see if she could decipher the person who placed the order or the price, but it was of no use. The ink was just too dark.

She then saw a familiar, cream colored notecard. Anxiously, she opened it and read the contents.

 _Touch me._

 _Anywhere._

 _Remind me of my humanity._

 _Of a heart that once beat._

 _Touch me._

 _Anywhere._

 _I will be yours._

Bella's eyes widened as the idea that it was Alice leaving her the notes and gifts flitted through her mind.

"Oh, no."

But then she remembered the tight handwriting on the note on her favorite dress. It was completely different than the script in her hand.

But maybe…

Bella groaned at the possibilities.

She was going to have to figure a way to let her friendly ghost know she was not interested. Not that she wasn't flattered to be the object of her attention, but Bella was not attracted in Alice in that way. She would just have to logically and rationally explain that she was drawn toward the opposite team as it were. And hope the disappointment didn't turn the friendly spirit into a demon.


	7. Chapter 7

_Twilight in an Adirondack chair in the middle of July next to a pond with a cold drink and a light breeze to keep away the mosquitoes might just now be my favorite thing in the world._

Bella sighed as she finished the dregs in her bottle and stretched her legs out.

Almost a week had passed since her last note from Alice, or whoever her mystery beau was, and she had not seen nor heard of the woman. She had come up with the perfect it's-not-you-it's-me scenario to let her down easily and had wanted to deliver it sooner rather than later.

But no luck.

Bella sighed before turning back to her journal to describe the scene before her. This week had been focused on sight and the powerful images the mentors had produced filled her with ideas and words.

A light, giddy laugh interrupted Bella's train of thought. She looked up to see Alice and a tall, blond gentleman walking around the far edge of the water. Alice waved and even from a distance, Bella could see the grin on her face.

 _Now or never_.

Alice and the man approached, her arm looped through his.

"Evening, Bella! This is my husband, Jasper Whitlock."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Bella." Jasper's south-western accent caught Bella off guard just as much as his title.

She caught herself quickly and offered a hand.

"We were just enjoying the night air before the storms roll in," Alice stated, motioning toward a rather innocuous looking cloud in the west.

"I didn't think they thought anything would come of that," Bella said, finally able to find her voice.

"Ah, you never bet against Alice. She knows these things," Jasper said with a strange smile.

"I do."

The two exchanged a look and Bella found herself jealous of the obvious love that flowed between them.

"Oh," Alice said with a start, pulling a notecard out of her bag. "I was supposed to give you this yesterday, but I think today is just as well."

Bella took it, murmuring her thanks, and glanced at her name on the outside.

"Have a good evening," Jasper said with another half-bow before the couple walked away.

 _When your eyes met mine,_

 _The deadliest charm was thrown._

 _I ran for fear_

 _Of making you my own._

 _Of taking you as my own._

 _Ten years have passed since that fateful day._

 _A pumping heart,_

 _Will beat and chime,_

 _For their own true love._

 _Then panic, fear_

 _For one so dear,_

 _Would it be cruel to wish you mine?_

Ten years? Who here at The Writing Academy had she known for ten years? She would have been in high school.

Oh, God, how she looked in high school. She groaned internally at the idea there were pictures out there of her during that lanky, emo phase of her life.

"I wish I knew who you were," she murmured, tapping the card to her lips, wracking her brain to think of who fit the clues in her notes.

Mother Nature had other plans, though. A deafening crack of thunder and bright glow of lightening filled the otherwise still air. Fat, cold raindrops and a stiff wind warned her the storm was coming quickly and without mercy.

"Gotta fly," Bella gasped, grabbing her belongings and running for the safety of her gardening hut.

In the ever-growing darkness, Bella tripped and lost her footing. Pain seared up one arm as she felt the pinecones and roots scrape hard enough to break the skin. With each moment, the rain fell heavier and heavier, giving her no time to examine the wound.

"Crap!" she muttered, fumbling to her feet and stumbling to the door.

Bella flicked the switch once safely inside to find no power.

"Great."

She pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight feature and used it to guide her to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged with a washcloth pressed to her skin in an effort to keep clean the scrapes.

Knowing her phone wouldn't last too long, she rummaged through her bag for her battery back up and plugged it in.

"Better to light a candle," she muttered to herself as the meagre flashlight illuminated a tiny spot in her room.

Bella listened as the thunder and rain beat on the trees surrounding her. She hoped it was one of those quick summer storms and not one that would last seemingly forever. She was never one to fear them, but being in an unfamiliar place without power did unsettle her nerves.

After setting her phone on her desk to provide maximum illumination, Bella plopped down on her bed, uncertain of what to do next. It was too early to fall asleep, and she had already responded to e-mails. She never was one to play games on her phone so she did not have any to call up. In mild frustration, she beat on her bed with one hand.

A small piece of paper lay underhand.

"Two in one day? I must be special."

She rose and approached her desk to gather enough light to read the card.

 _Your scent will be my downfall_

 _For ever and ever and an eternity more._

 _I will welcome the hellish burn_

"If it means you will be close."

Bella jumped at the low male voice that read the last line. He was directly behind her. So close, she could almost feel his presence.

"I'm not here to harm you," he continued.

"Who are you?" Bella started to turn around but a hand on her uninjured elbow halted her.

"Don't. Not yet. Someone who cannot stay away."

"You didn't have to do all this." She motioned toward the little display of notes and gifts she had created throughout the weeks.

"You will find there is very little I wouldn't do for you."

"You could have just walked up and introduced yourself."

"Looks can be very deceiving. A pretty package can mask a rotting soul."

"And are you a pretty package?"

"I was created to be the ultimate lure. Visually. My scent. I can appeal to all senses."

A strong arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer to him. She felt him brush back her damp hair and place a kiss on her throat, his lips cool against her skin.

"You don't even have to see me for me to lure you in."

"And modest, too."

He laughed, a dry, bitter sound.

"I am the ultimate predator, Ms. Swan."

"And I am your prey?" She tensed, slowly reaching for her keys, her father's training kicking in.

"You are my heroin. Something I've tried to avoid for a decade. I know once I give in, I will never let you go."

Suddenly, it clicked. The realization of who he was.

"Biology boy."

He laughed. Of all the names he had been called in his century long existence, that was a new one.

"You're the student that disappeared after I came to Forks."

"I am."

"Do you have a name?"

She heard him huff a deep breath before murmuring, "Edward."

Bella now had a name to put with that piece she had felt was missing in her life. Somewhere, deep within, she knew she had been searching for someone, and now she knew who. And he was right here behind her.

 _How can I be in love with someone and yet I've never seen their face or heard their voice. But it is love, of this I am sure._

She slowly turned, facing him for the first time. In the darkness, she could not make out any features. She knew not the color of his hair or his eyes, the strength of his jaw or if he had freckles or moles or …

And she found she did not care.

Stepping up onto her tiptoes, she moved to kiss him.

"Bella," he warned, stopping her. "If you continue, there is no going back."

"I know. We can talk. Just later."

"Later?"

"Yeah." She reached up to kiss him, pausing just shy of his lips. "Much, much later."

Edward's lips crashed down onto hers, almost painfully. She sighed into the kiss, lightly tracing her hands up and down his arms. She shivered with pleasure as his long fingers brushed against her back. Soon, they were gently caressing up her spine, taking her tee shirt with them. He carefully lay her shirt over the back of a chair, his eyes flickering as he took in the black and cream lacy bra she wore. His fingers traced along the decoration gently, earning a sigh of complete, unadulterated pleasure.

He knew he would strive to elicit that sound from her every day of their lives.

Bella looked up at him, her eyes darkening slightly, and started to unbutton his shirt. She placed one soft kiss on his chest as each button unfastened, trailing lower each time. The low rumble in his chest told her he liked what she was doing, so she got a little braver and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, caressing his arms as he did so.

Edward looked down at her with a smile and unfastened her belt. Feeling no sense of shyness, Bella unbuttoned her shorts and slowly eased them down over her thighs, revealing a matching pair of boy shorts.

He stared silently before she began to fidget under his gaze.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, sensing her sudden uncertainty. One hand trailed up her leg and rested on her right hip.

Edward gave her another long, slow kiss, his hands gently running up and down her arms. She was certain every inch of her skin was covered in double goosebumps and shivered slightly.

"Nervous? You can stop me any time," he murmured.

Bella shook her head, feeling a little more confident as she unfastened his belt. She fumbled with the button briefly before it gave way, momentarily wondering if Edward was a commando kind of guy. Nope, gray elastic. Without looking up at him, Bella gently lowered the zipper.

Great day in the morning. Boxer briefs. Her favorite. Tight boxer briefs. Even better. She hesitantly ran her fingertips down his hips, easing the pants down. Bella stole a glance at him and felt a tingle go through her. Size may not completely matter but she was going to finally have something to compare with.

Ever since that day back in high school, she had held no great desire to consummate a relationship. Bella had always assumed she was asexual. She enjoyed romance, was a great reader of it, wrote endless pages about others doing the deed, but no one person drew out of her any feelings one way or another. Until now.

Something was oddly right about the entire situation. She felt no fear, no hesitation. Just completion and finally being with him.

Bella sat on the edge of the bed and scooted back, leaning on the headboard before she crooked her finger at Edward. In a flash, he was on her. She giggled as she felt his weight press her into the downy comforter, his hair tickling her nose as he kissed her collarbone.

Edward gently pulled one bra strap off her shoulder, kissing lightly the now bare skin. He repeated on the other side. Bella reached behind and popped the hook, meeting his eyes with hers. Edward tugged off her bra, revealing warm, soft breasts. He looked down as she shyly smiled.

"Just beautiful," he whispered, his hot breath caressing her bare skin.

Bella gasped as his tongue brushed against one nipple. Nothing had ever felt so good in her entire life. She wiggled underneath him, feeling his arousal pressed into her thigh. She groaned in pleasure as he moved from one breast to the other.

Edward moved lower, trailing hot kisses down her side, his hands following, tracing lightly. Bella watched fascinated as he nipped here and there until he reached her hip. Oh, God. He wasn't going to…and there went any chance at coherent thought. Edward hooked her boy shorts with two fingers and slowly, gently snaked them off.

"Damn, you are beautiful," he whispered into her ear, pressing against her.

Bella blushed at the compliment and cautiously reached down to his waistband, looking him in his eyes. She could lose herself in his eyes, darkened with desire for her, shining in the dim light. He nodded as she cautiously slid one hand inside and down over his hip. Edward arched his back, giving her better access and her hand slid forward, cupping him. She gasped as he hissed in pleasure.

"Not too cold?" she whispered, stroking gently.

"Oh no." His breathing was growing ragged, and she eased his boxer briefs off, freeing him. Bella trailed kisses down one muscled arm, thanking God and a few other pantheons for daily workouts. Biology boy was cut!

"Bella," Edward murmured, looking very serious all of a sudden.

"Yes. The answer is yes." She didn't care what the question was. She was on fire for him and every nerve in her body cried for him.

And then he was there. Inside. Bella groaned in ecstasy as he filled her.

"Fuck, Bella…" Edward hissed in pleasure. She was so tight and so wet. And his. Only his.

"Edward…" she murmured, feeling every inch of him inside.

He started to rock slowly, gently, trying hard not to hurt her. She whimpered at his hesitance.

"All okay?" he whispered, concerned that he was causing her pain.

"Oh, yeah," she smiled, her eyes bright with desire.

"Then tell me what you want," he murmured seductively, nuzzling her hair above her ear.

Bella smiled sweetly and took his face in her hands, making him look her directly in the eye.

"I want you to fuck me until I see stars."

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned and proceeded to do just that.


	8. Chapter 8

Fairy tales do not always have happy endings, a fact Bella Swan sadly knew. That information did not take the sting away when she rose the next morning to find herself alone, the covers beside her cold.

An aching stone filled her chest where her heart should have been as she packed her belongings for the trip home. For a brief moment, she contemplated burning the notes and poems and gifts she had received, but her heart would not let her carry out the deed.

 _Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before._

And she did love him. Somehow, somewhere, she had fallen for the hidden in the shadows man who had given her one night of unbridled passion.

And soreness in places she didn't know existed.

But she was a Swan, strong and resilient. She knew she had to focus on the future and move forward.

He could have at least left a note.

Grumbling to herself, Bella climbed aboard the bus to the airport, not noticing the driver was not Emmett.

"So did you hear?"

Bella looked over at Victoria who fairly vibrated with excitement.

"You finished your novel?"

"Well, yes, but The Writing Academy has been closed down. The sponsors had to withdraw their funding, and we are the last class!"

Bella fell back into her seat in disbelief as those around her tossed about the latest gossip about the Academy.

Suddenly her phone dinged, receiving a message from a blocked number.

 _Don't believe everything you hear. Don't jump to conclusions on Edward._

Bella wrote a long response demanding to know who it was sending the message and where was Edward and more, but the message would not go through, leaving her in an even darker mood than before.


	9. Chapter 9

Pre-planning. The joyous time of a teacher's year where meetings about future meetings are planned and executed. The latest and greatest testing schemes are revealed, and the smell of fresh paint and floor wax greet the staff.

"And later today we will meet our two new colleagues," Principal Newton droned on. "They should have already arrived but there was something about their flight from Italy being delayed."

"I'd like to be delayed on a flight from Italy," Jessica murmured conspiratorially to Bella who nodded in agreement.

"Who got replaced?"

"New positions. Drama and something in the STEAM field. The arts part, I think."

"How the heck did we rate that?"

Forks High was a large for the area school, but funding for Drama and the arts always found its way into the we-wish-we-could-but-can't category.

Jessica shrugged as the meeting broke up and everyone headed back toward their respective classrooms.

"Oh, my God, have you seen him?" Tanya Denali, the resident Family and Consumer Science guru gushed as she saw Jessica and Bella walking toward her.

"Seen who?"

"The new audio arts teacher."

"Audio arts?" Jessica asked incredulously.

"Yes. Seems we now have a state of the art music production lab, and he's going to teach guitar and piano."

"Do we have enough students that will warrant that addition?" Bella asked.

"Honey, after you get a look at him, you will know there is going to be a waiting list for whatever class that man teaches. Damn!"

In spite of themselves, Bella and Jessica laughed. Tanya was known for appreciating the human form and not holding back when she found someone attractive.

"All I know," Tanya continued, "is that I just might put Laurent on the back burner if Edward Masen showed me any attention."

Bella froze. Edward was a common enough name, right? It couldn't be…

"You okay?" Jessica asked as Tanya flitted down the hall to spread the word on the godliness that was the new teacher. "You look pale."

"Probably just need to eat something. Blood sugar dropped or whatnot." Bella waved off her friend who nodded before heading toward the supply closet.

Curiosity niggled at her so Bella detoured from her original destination of the media center and ventured toward the Audio Arts classroom. As she approached, a familiar tune floated through the air.

"I can't do this right now." Her heart stopped as she recognized the sounds. Her lullaby.

"He's been miserable."

Bella spun around to see Alice standing next to her.

"Alice, I can't."

"We were called to Volterra, Bella. I can't tell you everything, but when a va… when we are ordered to present ourselves, we have to go."

"I don't know if I can face him."

"He knows. And he's willing to do anything he can to win your heart."

Bella thought about the pain and hurt she had been through over the last few weeks. He heart had been missing something, someone. She was no longer in possession of it. The one who held it sat just a few feet away.

"Go speak to him. Please." Alice smiled encouragingly, motioning toward the classroom.

The pull to enter the room was overwhelming. Bella felt her heart race and wondered if she were about to pass out.

"This is so weird," she muttered, taking a step toward the door.

"And that is what is going to make it so great," Alice whispered, closing the door behind her.

 **Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed The Writing Academy. This was my first FAGE & I had a lot of fun with it. If there are any errors, I apologize. I wrote this before heading to India & formatted it after getting back yesterday afternoon (39 1/2 hours traveling can scramble a brain, just saying!)**

 **MWAH!**


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